palinoia
by Nnatsukashii
Summary: allen decides he'd like to draw his fancied japanese boy, and ends up only unknowingly embarrassing himself when link finds his crumbled attempts after he's tucked himself into sleep in their cooling shared room. implied yullen, canon universe, complete oneshot.


Allen burdens himself with eyes that stare too hard, never blink, shut too fast once his job is done, a head that never quite stops its selfish spin even in curled-tight caches of sleep. Between blurred together rushes to his heart during every battle, all he has time for is to sit so listless and sullen with his grievance in his arms, tucked beneath his collar or smothered in his fist like a child.

In the later hours of the night Allen's swell and spin has been swaddled with the same boyish clumsiness he uses to hem in quiet admiration around small thoughts. Imaginably misplaced fondness, Allen considers as he moves to make himself comfortable in his too-warm mess of sheets, his thoughts straying to his (perhaps) fancied Japanese boy. With usual deft fingers unfittingly tentative, he feels about the wheals left across his conscious from the day's messes and calamity.

The wet scribble of Link's pen across a constant page is quickly lost in the folds and wrinkles of Allen's coat, caught between his ear and pillow as just the scintilla of galvanized thought sparks softly. Appetence bright in the boy's mind he curls closely beside his pushed away, kept for later sleep and small, loosening perception, and instead buzzes with the thought of this other boy – his companion in war, a fellow soldier, a trivial enemy and hoped for friend but at the very most a swallowed down crush.

Kanda's blue-black eyes (cobalt, he found when still stuffed into silly childish thought and his fingers so eagerly flicked through crumbling pages of a thesaurus in the library when Link wasn't so keen) are far too much, so attractively slanted and vague (light so nicely when his crouch and strike hits home). His hands larger and stronger than his own, always too far away to spy on when Allen is idle and not balled up into his collar or gripping Mugen. He rolls onto his bruised belly and ribs as he comes to thinking of Kanda's hair, bound so tightly and brushed.

Allen eyes stray to Link's back and the small lamp that illuminates their room, light soft and gold against the walls to create pools of cool shadows for him to hide in. From where he lays disheveled in bed, hands propping his chin from his pillows, the boy watches what he can see of his companion's pen and at last the pacifying scribble comes to his opening ears. He watches idly and without thought of even his (his, so eagerly jumping at the chance to call him his but cowering at the thought once looking him in the eye) Japanese boy until another lull of his bruises remarks sleep and brings with its lull a childish idea.

Slowly Allen crawls away from his cooling pillows and toward Link, the large open window above his desk and illuminating lamp. Childishly, he hovers over his shoulder with quiet hesitation until he's asked what is it he wants, "Are you hungry again, Walker, I don't think the lunchrooms are open so late," but he only politely asks for a sharpened pencil and a clean scrap of paper. With a sigh he's given both and enthusiastically he pulls a book from Link's desk to rest on his knee and supply a flat surface as he sits on his bed, bent over it with his pencil poised eagerly.

He adds to their small room's scribble of pens, though periodically he furiously crosses out what he's drawn, earning himself Link's laughable interest and quick looks from where he sits, which Allen does not notice. The boy busies himself with drawing slender faces, the same over and over, the same long hair and sharp eyes, regal nose and fringe, though each time it does not feel right and he's failed, again, again, again. One more bust, eyes looking at him from over a lean shoulder so condescending and unavoidable, with hair let loose and brushed to the other in all the grace this man has.

Once more the scrawl is scribbled over in grief and Allen wholly gives up, paper crushed between his small hands and thrown to the floor, his body into bed where it curls to embrace his pushed aside sleep. Only a few more rustles and pick at the sheets and he's gone, sleeping dreamlessly and heavily in his cooling shadow against the light.

Hours later Link heaves himself from his desk on tired feet and stretches, spotting Allen spread childishly across his sheets fully clothed. Like a parent and nearly out of place, he makes to remove his Exorcist's coat, unbutton his slacks and pull them past his feet, the only protest he's given in return being small moans and Allen's drool rolled into a pillow on his own accord. He steps back with coat and pants over his arm, and hears the crackle of paper beneath his feet.

Link unfolds Allen's mess of doodles and stares in a tangle of near laughter and more so fitting bewilderment as he skims through images of his charge's comrade, Kanda Yu, drawn so many times over with boyish care and a vague sense of admiration of the very same kind.

* * *

whee whoo whee whoo here is a thing for you i hope you've enjoyed it (it was pretty silly)

there's a link to the post on tumblr on my profile if you're interested in finding me there as well ヽ(´▽｀)ノ


End file.
